Crime Of Passion Page 2

  'It may have been an oversight on his part. Had you asked him to wait?'

  Georgie stiffened. 'Well, I thought he under­

  stood '

  'Do you know the registration of the taxi?' Rafael surveyed her with an offensive lack of expectation. Angrily she shook her head.

  'Your bag may yet reappear,' Rafael asserted. 'If your bag is not handed in, then you may say that it has been stolen, not before. You were stupendously careless!'

  'Lecture over yet?' she demanded shortly.

  'When you found yourself stranded, what did you do?'

  'By the time I realised he wasn't coming back, the place was deserted, so I started walking and then I...'

  She hesitated. 'Then I hitched a lift. You wouldn't be­ lieve how pleasant and unthreatening the driver was when I got into his truck '

  'I believe you. I should imagine he came to a wheel-screeching halt,' Rafael murmured with withering sarcasm. "Then what?'

  Georgie lifted her chin. 'He offered me money and while I was pushing it away he lunged at me. I thought I was going to be raped!'

  'I understand you kneed him in the groin and drew blood. One may assume you are reasonably capable of self-defence. He thought you were a prostitute '

  'A what?' she exploded.

  'Why do you think he offered you money? Female tourists do not travel alone in Bolivia, nor do they hitch alone.' Grim dark eyes flicked a glance at her outraged face before returning to the road.

  'Have you any idea how scared I was when he drove off and wouldn't let me out of his truck?'

  'He was determined to report you for what he saw as an attempt to rip him off. But he was happy to drop the charge once he realised that his neighbours would laugh heartily at him for being attacked by a woman half his size!'

  Georgie was enraged by his attitude. The message was: you asked for it.

  'You had a very narrow escape. He might have beaten you up to avenge the slur upon his manhood. This country has been dominated by the cult of machismo for four centuries,' Rafael drawled in a murderously polite tone. 'It will take more than a handful of tourists to change that but, happily, the great majority of trav­ellers are infinitely more careful of their own safety than you have been.'

  'So I asked for what I got... in your view!' she flared,

  'An attempted kiss, a hand on your knee—he swore that was all. He said you went crazy and I believe him. It'll be weeks before he can show his face without his neighbours sniggering.' Rafael actually sounded sym­pathetic towards the truck-driver.

  Silence stretched endlessly. He made no attempt to break it. The four-wheel-drive lurched and bounced over the appalling road surface with the vehicle behind fol­lowing at a discreet distance. Briefly, Rafael stopped the car and sprang out. Incredulously she watched him open the sack to release the snake. Wow, environmentally friendly man, and sensitive enough not to offend the villagers by refusing the unwanted gift. It crossed her mind bitterly that the snake was getting more attention than she was.

  Then, that was hardly a surprise. Four years ago, Rafael had made it brutally clear that she failed his stan­dards in every way possible. Her morals, her be­haviour—her sexually provocative behaviour, she recalled angrily—had all been comprehensively shredded by that cruel, whiplash tongue. But what still hurt the most, she was honest enough to admit, was that she hadn't had the wit to take it on the chin and walk away with dignity. Like a fool, she had attempted to prove her innocence.

  'He's from a different world,' her stepbrother Steve had derided once. 'And he belongs to a culture you don't even begin to understand. Don't be fooled by the fact that he speaks English as well as we do. Rafael's a very traditional Latin-American male and the women in his life fall into two categories. Angels and whores. The females in his family—they're the angels. The females who share his bed—they're the whores. When he marries, he'll select an angel straight out of a convent and she'll be as well-born and rich as he is. So where are you planning to fit in?'

  And ultimately Steve had been proved right, that dreadful evening when her short-lived relationship with Rafael had been blown apart at the seams. Rafael had treated her like a whore. Scorched by that memory,

  Georgie sank back to the present and cast aside the swel­tering blanket in a gesture of rebellion. She stretched out her lithe, wonderfully shapely legs and crossed them. She didn't give two hoots for his opinion, did she? She wasn't a stupid, besotted little teenager any more, was she?

  'Where are you staying in La Paz?' he asked after a perceptible pause, firing the engine again.

  She told him. That was the end of the conversation, but the atmosophere was so thick all of a sudden that she could taste it. It tasted like oil waiting for a flame-explosive. She tilted her head back, a helplessly feminine smile of satisfaction curving her lips as she noticed the tense grip of his lean hands on the wheel. So, in spite of all the insults, Rafael was still not impervious to her on the most basic level of all. A little voice in the back of her mind demanded to know what she was doing, why she was behaving in this utterly uncharacteristic way. She suppressed it.

  She was surprised when he sprang out of the car and silently accompanied her into her shabby hotel, but she chose not to comment. Why lower herself to talk to him? She strolled ahead of him, every tiny swing of her hips an art-form. Presumably he was intending to take her straight to his sister. Maria Cristina was probably home again by now. But how on earth was Georgie to settle her hotel bill? Her missing handbag had contained not only her passport, but all her money as well.

  Her room looked as though a bomb had hit it. Yes­terday, she had gone out in a rush. Reddening, Georgie grabbed up her squashy travel-bag and snatched up dis­carded items of clothing and stuffed them out of sight. Rafael lounged back against the door, like a bloody great black storm-cloud, she found herself thinking, suddenly made nervous and grossly uncomfortable by his presence in the comparative isolation of the small room.

  'You can wait outside while I get changed,' she mut­tered, because there was no en suite bathroom, just a washbasin.

  'Don't be ridiculous,' Rafael murmured very drily.

  'I am not being ridiculous,' Georgie returned tautly, her colour heightening even more. Dear heaven, surely he wasn't seriously expecting her to strip in front of him?

  Intent black eyes collided with violet bemusement. Whoosh It was like grasping a live wire, plunging a finger into a light-socket. Violent shock thundered through Georgie's suddenly taut body. She was elec­trified, wildly energised, before she strained mental bone and sinew to shut out the rich dark entrapment of his gaze, badly shaken by that terrifying burst of raw excitement.

  No... no, it simply couldn't happen to her again. She was immune to all that smouldering Latin-American masculinity now. She had not felt like that, she told herself frantically. She had not felt that stabbing, shooting sensation of almost .unbearable physical awareness which had reduced her to such mindless idiocy in the past. That was behind her now, a mortifying teenage crush in which hormones had briefly triumphed over all else.

  Rafael bent down fluidly and lifted a silky white pair of very brief panties off the worn carpet and tossed them to her. Already sufficiently on edge, Georgie failed to catch them and ended up scrabbling foolishly on the floor, stuffing the wretched things into her bag with hands that were trembling so badly that they were all fingers and thumbs.

  'You wouldn't have given me a knee in the groin,' Rafael murmured very softly.

  Crouching over her bag, Georgie slewed wildly con­fused eyes in his direction, chose to focus safely on his Italian leather shoes.

  He moved forward. She froze, the sound of her own breathing loud in her ears.

  'You would have knocked me flat with enthusiasm,' Rafael completed thickly.

  Bastard, she thought, absolutely shattered by his cruelty. She had believed she was in love, had held nothing back, had often told herself since that she was lucky he had dumped her before she ended up in his bed.
But now shame drenched her and she hated him for that. He didn't have to make her sound so cheap, did he? In the most essential way of all, she had been innocent, and there had been nothing calculated about her response to him.

  'Teenagers aren't very subtle when they have a crush on someone.' Determined not to show that his cracks had got to her, Georgie even managed a sharp little laugh.

  'But it wasn't a crush,' Rafael breathed, subjecting her to the full onslaught of deep-set dark eyes that dis­turbingly lingered and somehow held her evasive gaze steady. 'You were violently in love with me.'

  Georgie very nearly choked. The bag in her hand dropped unnoticed as her fingers lost their grip. Ab­ruptly, she turned away, sick inside. What kind of sadist was he? Did it give him some sort of perverse kick to throw that in her teeth? It had not been love, it had never been love—she had told herself that ever since.

  'And the vibrations are still there.. . feel them,' Rafael delivered in a purring undertone that still sliced through the throbbing silence.

  'I feel nothing... nothing!' Georgie threw back trem­ulously over her shoulder, wildy disconcerted by the di­rection of the dialogue, it having been the last subject she would have believed him likely to refer to. She had thought herself safe from any reference to the past, had been grimly aware of his aloof detachment. Now the tables were turned with a vengeance.

  Rafael reached out a strong hand and spun her back to face him. 'Why pretend? We're both adults now, and I know that you take your pleasure where and when you find it... and with any man who attracts you.'

  Oxygen rasped in her throat and she trembled under the onslaught of that character assassination, fighting off the memories threatening to assail her. 'How dare you?'

  Insolent dark eyes mocked her ferocious tension and her sudden pronounced pallor. He lifted his other hand calmly and ran a forefinger along the full curve of her taut lower lip. 'Does it scare you that I know you for what you are? Why should that matter? We don't have to like each other, we don't even have to talk,' he mur­mured in a deep, dark voice. 'I just want you in that bed under me once... and I really don't care if it is sordid, I'll still be the best lover you've ever had.'

  The fingertip grazing her lip was sending tiny little shivers through her. Georgie tried and failed to swallow. She couldn't believe what he was saying to her. She just couldn't get her mind round the shock of such a pro­posal. 'You have to be joking...'

  He laughed softly. 'You were always so honest... in this, if nothing else,' he breathed, with a sudden edge of harshness roughening his intonation. 'You want me. I want you. Why should we not make love?'

  Georgie shuddered with barely concealed fury, but be­neath the fury was a pain she flatly refused to ac­knowledge. 'Because I don't want you! I'm not that desperate!' she spelt out hotly, and jerked free of him, ashamed that her breasts were swollen and full beneath her wispy bra, ashamed that it should actually have taken will-power to step back, and ashamed that for a split-second she had allowed herself to think of that intimacy she had once craved with the man she loved.

  Yes, loved—why continue to pretend otherwise when even he knew just how deeply she had been involved? A small sop to pride? 'We're both adults now.' The ul­timate humiliation and he just hadn't been able to resist the temptation. She was good enough for a sleazy roll in a grotty hotel room, not good enough for anything else, and even with all that smooth sophistication and experience at his fingertips he hadn't bothered to wrap up that reality.

  'I'd like you to leave,' Georgie said with as much dignity as she could muster, and it was not a lot.

  'I won't visit you in London. There will be no second chance. You see, I know where you live,' he spelt out with sizzling bite, his dark golden features rigidly cast.

  Georgie lived in a tiny attic flat of a terraced house which belonged to her stepbrother, Steve. But the sig­nificance of Rafael's, reference to that fact quite escaped her. What did where she lived have to do with anything? she wondered briefly, but she was in such turmoil that the oddity of the comment as quickly left her mind again.

  She was enraged by the awareness that Rafael had not

  expected her to refuse that sordid proposition. Rafael

  had actually expected her to spread herself willingly on

  the bed. Her narrow shoulders rigid, she turned back to

  him. 'Just forget where I live '

  'I try to.' Rafael dealt her a chilling look of derision, his nostrils flaring. 'But why else did you come to Bolivia? You knew we would meet again...and that was what you wanted, es verdad?'

  Georgie was stunned by his arrogance. 'Like hell it was! I want nothing to do with you... absolutely nothing!'

  'Prove it,' he taunted, reaching out without warning to drag her up against him with an easy strength that shook her.

  'Get your hands off me!' she gasped.

  But his mouth crashed down on hers, hard, hungry, hot, forcing her lips apart. And, for Georgie, the world rocked right off its axis, dredging a shocked whimper of sound from deep in her throat. Every physical sense she possessed was violently jolted. His tongue expertly probed the sensitive interior of her mouth, blatantly im­itating an infinitely more intimate penetration, and her bones turned to water and she quivered and moaned, electrified by the fierce excitement he awakened. He crushed her slender length to him with bruising hands and she gasped, her thighs trembling, an unbearable ache stirring low in her stomach.

  Rafael lifted his dark head slowly. 'Do I take you on that bed or do I take you to the airport?' he prompted silkily, blatant masculine satisfaction in the narrowed gaze scanning her rapt face. 'The choice is yours.'

  CHAPTER TWO

  'The airport?' Georgie repeated blankly, endeavouring to return to rational thought and finding it unbelievably difficult.

  'For your flight home,' Rafael extended, with a slashing and sardonic smile.

  'But I'm not going home.' Georgie broke slowly from the loosened circle of his arms, still reeling from the ef­fects of his lovemaking and trying very hard not to show just how shattered she was by the response he had dredged from her. She was in shock. 'I'm going to stay with Maria Christina.'

  'My sister is in California.'

  'California?' Georgie parroted after a shattered pause. Incredulously she stared at him. 'What are you talking about?'

  'Antonio's mother lives there and Maria Cristina and Rosa are very close,' Rafael explained smoothly. 'My sister is expecting her first child and, since her own mother is dead, it is natural that she should want Rosa's support at such a time.'

  Georgie was in a daze. 'But I received a letter from her less than two weeks ago, inviting me over here. She hoped I'd still be here when she had her baby!'

  'She only decided to go to San Francisco last week. She couldn't have been expecting you to come.' Rafael exhibited a magnificent disregard for her natural distress.

  'It was a last-minute decision and I got cancellation

  tickets,' Georgie conceded tautly. 'I tried to phone her

  the night before the flight but she wasn't in '

  'But you came all the same,' Rafael drawled with an ironic lack of surprise.

  'I wanted to surprise her!' Georgie slung back. 'Why didn't you tell me immediately? Obviously you knew I was here to stay with your sister '

  'I had hoped you were not that foolish. I told you to

  stay away from Maria Cristina four years ago,' he re­

  minded her with grim emphasis. 'It is a most unsuitable

  friendship and I made my feelings clear then '

  'Stuff your bloody feelings!' Georgie gasped, sud­denly swinging away from him, her voice embarrass­ingly choked. 'My friendship with Maria Cristina is none of your business.'

  Her bruised eyes were filled with tears. So this was what it felt like to be at the end of her tether. She had really been looking forward to staying with her friend. This disappointment was the last straw. She also knew that, as a recently graduated student teacher, who
had yet to find employment, it would be many years before she could hope to repeat such an expensive trip.

  It was unlikely that Maria Cristina would come to London under her own steam. Rafael's sister was very much a home-bird, who had only tolerated her English boarding-school education because it had been her late mother's wish and who had freely admitted that she hadn't the faintest desire to ever leave Bolivia again once her education was completed. Her marriage to a doctor, no more fond of travelling than she was, had set the seal on that insularity.

  'Anything which threatens my family is my business.'

  'Threatens?' Georgie queried jerkily, fighting for composure. 'And how do I threaten your family?'

  'I will not allow you to hurt my sister, and the day that she realises what kind of a woman you really are, she will be hurt.'

  'God forgive you...I would never hurt Maria Cristina!' Georgie gasped painfully, swinging back to him in a rage. 'She'd be a whole lot more hurt if she knew that the brother she idolises is a slimy toe-rag!'

  'What did you call me?' Dark eyes had turned incan­descent gold, his savagely handsome features freezing into sudden incredulous stillness.

  Georgie vented a shaky little laugh. All that bowing and scraping people did in his vicinity did not accustom him to derision. But she knew that she would never forget the depths to which he had sunk in his desire to hu­miliate her today. 'I think you heard me, and let me assure you that your seduction routine leaves a lot to be desired!' she spelt out, hot with anger and bitterness.

  'Seduction was quite unnecessary,' Rafael asserted softly, his beautifully shaped mouth twisting with blatant contempt. 'If I'd kept quiet, I'd be inside you now, and the only sounds in this room would be your moans of pleasure. You'd share a bed with any man who attracted you! I don't pride myself on the idea that there is any­thing exclusive about your response to me.'

  Georgie was trembling violently. Every scrap of colour had drained from her features, leaving her white as snow. Her hand flew up of its own volition but steel-hard fingers snapped round her wrist in mid-air.